‘Your sister told you to say that, didn’t she? Where’s she gone? Because I want a word with her about your dad’s favourite beer glass.’
‘She’s… on the phone,’ Orla said, suddenly feeling the need to protect Erin as their mum looked like she was about to mount the stairs.
‘Of course she is,’ Dana answered. ‘It would take surgery to remove that thing from her hand; it’s like a second palm.’
Her mum retreated back through the living room door as if the conversation was over. Until… ‘Are you coming in here or not? Because I don’t want to leave this door open.’
Orla took a deep breath and then followed her mum’s path. But what lay beyond the door stole the air from her lungs. The living room was nothing like the last time she had visited only four weeks ago. It was practically bare. Gone was the large dresser that had housed her grandmother’s china, absent was a chaise longue Dana had bought from an antiques fair and re-covered, and where was the DVD player?
‘Don’t stand on ceremony, Orla. Sit yourself down,’ her mum ordered.
On the one chair remaining or squeezed up to her mum on a two-seater sofa she had never seen before? What was going on here?
‘Mum,’ Orla began, opting for the chair. ‘Where has all the furniture gone?’
‘You mean that old cabinet and those ancient plates of your grandma’s?’
‘Yes.’
‘It took up so much space! You get Bren in this room as well as all of us and you’re fighting for room like cats in a litter tray.’
‘But, Mum?—’
‘And that sofa thing I boughtyearsago was practically threadbare.’
‘You re-covered it.’
‘And what a waste of time that was. Now, tell me, do I need to get a fancy Waitrose trifle this year or will a Bird’s one do? I was thinking we could mix it up a bit and get raspberry.’
‘Mum,’ Orla said. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Dana said, hands in her new hairdo. ‘What’s wrong with raspberry? Or is that the latest mid-life crisis trigger word or something?’
She had no other choice but to get straight to the point. She knew her mum liked to do a word dance around difficult topics but now she’d seen with her own eyes that there were issues here, there wasn’t time to skirt around them.
‘Mum, Erin says Dad has a drink problem. And, I don’t care what you say, you loved that dresserandthe chaise longue. So, I’m asking again, what’s going on?’
Dana opened her mouth to reply and Orla waited for the torrent of words about anything other than the big question she’d asked. Except that didn’t happen. Instead her mum sat very still, her mouth open, but nothing coming out. This was bad.
4
Orla could count on one hand the number of times she had seen her mum cry. Three funerals and one very bullish parent/teacher meeting at Erin’s school. Dana Bradbee was not a crier. But the tears were soaking her cheeks before Orla could get off the chair and make moves to put her arms around her. She had hesitated though, hadn’t committed to it, knowing the show of physical affection would likely make her mum batten the hatches rather than the other way around. Instead, she had offered a cup of tea. There was a bottle of Baileys next to the kettle and although Orla was tempted, alcohol was not the solution right now. It also set to remind her of Frances and France. How was she going to break that to her mum now? Maybe she could embellish the assignment a little. Make it sound like it had some kind of gravitas…
‘Here we are,’ Orla said, holding the steaming mug out to her mum.
‘I’m all right. Don’t make a fuss.’
‘It’s just a cup of tea,’ Orla said. ‘No fuss.’
‘I hate tears,’ her mum said, wiping her eyes with a tissue. ‘Such a waste of energy.’
‘Well,’ Orla said, sitting down next to her mum. ‘Some people find it therapeutic. To get the negative feelings out.’
‘Soothsayers.’
‘So,’ Orla said, not wanting to lose what momentum she had. ‘Is Dad really struggling with alcohol?’
Her mum sighed. ‘I’m not sure, to be honest. I thought it was a phase, you know, boredom after the greenhouse project and the brief spell as a Yodel driver, but then, money started to get tight. And I know your sister’s beauty regime claws away at the budget but I’m not going to have a child of mine not having what everyone else has and being bullied for it, so I indulge it to a certain degree by making personal sacrifices. Except for the luxury of the scented candles but that’s to give Helen a boost, you know.’
